Once they were across the crevice and taking their first steps on the other side, King noticed something far more disturbing than his fall.
“Mack,” King said in a low voice. “Could you look at the thermal signatures on this device?”
Mack stopped and shifted the backpack to ease its weight. “Yeah?”
“The two other dots,” King said, holding out the device. “They’ve shifted direction. Before, it seemed like they were drifting away. Now it looks like they’re moving toward a position somewhere ahead, between us and the cliffs.”
“To cut us off,” Mack said. Half question, half statement. “Maybe they had prearranged instructions to meet. Or maybe, somehow, they know we aren’t the other two hunters.”
“The reason doesn’t matter if the result is the same. They can see our location as clearly as we can see them. And they’re going to be between us and the cliff.”
“Actually it does matter,” Mack said. “If it was prearranged, they won’t be expecting us instead of the first two, and that might work to our advantage.”
King thought about it. “If somehow they know we’ve switched, they probably think we don’t know about them. They can’t know we have this tracking device. That’s an advantage too, if they believe we don’t know they’re getting close.”
Mack spoke in a dry voice. “So we don’t change direction. Because if we do, they’ll know we know where they are headed.”
Mack’s voice became even drier. “That gives us about five minutes to figure out what we’re going to do when we meet them.”
With no chance of sneaking up on them, King thought. And from a distance, if their enemies were wearing Kevlar and helmets, even less chance of shooting a dart into the small area of exposed skin on their necks.
Then King had an idea.
“Mack,” he said. “Remember your MacGyver thing and how you said you had a flare in your backpack to mess with night vision goggles?”
“Yep.”
“And remember how the guys we put down said the other two loved using knives too?”
“Trying not to think about it,” Mack said.
“But it means they will want to move in close to get us, right?”
“Trying not to think about that either.”
“It might work in our favor,” King said. “Because maybe we should let them come to us. The first reason is that if we stay here and they do head in our direction, it proves that they know we are their targets. And if that’s the case, they’ll probably assume we won’t know they are approaching. I mean, they can’t guess we have a thermal location device like they do.”
“And the second reason?”
“If they want to move in close instead of shooting us from a distance,” King said, “we might have a way to strike back. Let’s put it this way, if I had fallen in the crevice, we’d be stopping here to splint a broken ankle or leg, right?”
“Duct tape and pieces of branch,” Mack said. “It’s not like I’d leave you behind.”
“That’s how they’d see it too,” King said. He outlined his plan.
Hunting humans, King thought, truly was the most dangerous game.
CHAPTER 36
This time, the waiting was easier. Only because waiting the first time had been so difficult.
And this time, King wasn’t covered by crinkly Mylar, so he didn’t have to keep quite as still. And he wasn’t dripping in sweat. Nor was every moment filled with the uncertainty of wondering when the hunters might arrive.
Here, he stood in the open, with his backpack shucked off to the side and short sticks duct taped to his left ankle. He wasn’t armed with a dart rifle. Instead, he was leaning on a long stick as if it were a crutch. As he waited, he could glance down at the device and see the approach of two dots, and that took away the uncertainty.
In its place, the only emotion King felt was dread.
Humans were unpredictable. What if King had guessed wrong? What if this pair preferred to shoot, not move in close and use a knife? Or what if this pair liked a combination of both—darts from a distance and then a knife?
The moon came out again, showing his shadow in front of him. There was comfort in seeing Mack’s shadow, comfort having his dad at his side. But there was discomfort too because the moonlight made both more visible.
When another cloud put them in darkness, King felt his heart rate slow but only slightly.
King had his night vision goggles on again. Mack didn’t need the thermal goggles, not when the handheld device provided them with the information they needed.
The dots on the screen moved closer and closer until it seemed like all four dots had merged. King didn’t need the device anymore. He set it down carefully, guessing that the human predators were close enough to hear a sound if he dropped it.
The silence, however, did seem to prove that one of their guesses had been correct. The hunters had not called out, thinking that the thermal images represented their fellow hunters. No, they were moving in as predators.
King strained to see any movement with his night vision goggles. Like before, when it came, it came with ominous slowness, like a stealthy separation of shadows.
“Now,” he whispered to Mack.
“Put your weight on it,” Mack said. Mack’s voice seemed to ring like a bell. There was no doubt it would carry to the hunters, only about 25 steps away. And no doubt that both hunters were observing with night vision goggles.
“It’s broken,” King answered. He put petulance into the next words. “I don’t care how much wrapping you put on it. It’s killing me.”
“We have to move,” Mack said. “We’ve already wasted too much time standing here. And if there are more of them out there, you really will be dead. Me too. These guys don’t mess around. They’ll just walk up to us and slaughter us like sheep. We’ve got nothing left to use to defend ourselves.”
“Okay, okay,” King said. “Enough. I’m scared as it is.”
King remained in a stance that showed his weight on the stick that served as crutch. He shuffled and pretended to half fall and then regain his balance. He made sure to keep track of the green shapes in his goggles, shapes of two human objects moving in closer.
It seemed—and he hoped he wasn’t fooling himself—that the hunters were moving with less caution than before.
“Can’t do it,” King said, making sure his voice was loud and strained. “We might as well get some big rocks and climb in a tree and hope we can catch them by surprise.”
“Too late,” came a voice. “Time for the four of us to have a party. A pain party.”
CHAPTER 37
King wasn’t surprised at the sadistic pleasure he heard in the voice that came from the darkness. No different from the first pair. And that had been one of their gambles. That these men enjoyed the chance to hurt and dominate. It meant that they wouldn’t shoot darts, but were already in bloodlust, wanting to move in close.
The second man laughed. “That’s right, little lambs. Baa. Baa. Come to the slaughter.”
“Dad!” King said. He pushed off his night vision goggles and let them fall. “Do something.”
Those were the code words for King to tell Mack he was ready. And that his eyes were closed.
King heard a scratching sound. Then, with a sudden hissing came a brightness that bloomed through his closed eyelids.
Magnesium flare.
Above the hissing, King heard a scream. Night vision goggles were attuned to pick up and magnify the slightest of lights. For the two hunters, it would have been like having the sun thrust into the center of their brains.
That would buy King and Mack a few moments as the two hunters fought to get some semblance of vision. More importantly, it would look like they were trying to buy time.
King dropped the crutch and put one arm around Mack’s shoulders. He hopped on his right foot, bending his left leg at the knee to keep the wrapped ankle above the ground.
Together, they did this awkw
ard slow dance to flee the hunters.
Mack had guessed it would take about 90 seconds for their eyes to adjust. He’d also gone back to the crevice and measured about what point they needed to be by the time that 90 seconds ended.
The screams behind them became a string of curses hurled in rage.
Perfect. A raging man is not a thinking man. Whatever bloodlust had been driving those hunters had just increased exponentially.
Mack and King made slow progress. King couldn’t get an image out of his mind. He didn’t know the bird’s name. But when a cat or dog or fox got too close to the bird’s nest, it would run in circles, pretending its wing was broken, drawing the animal away from the eggs or hatchlings. Then the bird would time it perfectly, and just as the animal was ready to pounce, it would fly easily out of reach.
Here, a broken ankle would have to do instead of a broken wing. And the timing would need to be equally perfect.
Now each second seemed to be drawn in slow motion. Every one of King’s senses was stretched to heightened awareness.
The screams and curses behind them grew louder as both the hunters gained ground with terrifying quickness.
Then came big beams of light. From the hunters behind them. This could be good. Or bad. Good, only if they kept the beams of light on the backs of King and Mack as they fled. Bad if they saw the trap in time.
“Not there yet,” Mack said. He didn’t need to tell King that everything here was about timing, not losing nerve. “Not there. Not there. Hold steady.”
“Dead!” came a shout from behind. Too close behind. “You are dead! Slow dead and so dead!”
The threats were like depth soundings, giving King and Mack precise indications of the narrowing distance. Better yet, they showed the anger that clouded the pursuers’ judgment.
Finally, King saw the tiny white beam of Mack’s flashlight. Mack had laid the flashlight on the ground so that the beam was parallel to the beginning of the crevice. It told King and Mack exactly where they had to jump.
The magnesium flare kept the hunters behind from being able to see the narrow beam of light. Nor would they see the spruce branches Mack had laid across the gap of the crevice, turning it into a hidden pit.
The shouts and lights were so close that King wanted to risk a peek over his shoulders. When he’d come up with this plan, though, Mack had warned him against looking back if they had flashlights. The entire point was to preserve night vision. If King took a flashlight beam in the eyes, he wouldn’t see the tiny sliver of light where Mack’s flashlight marked the near edge of the crevice.
“Okay!” Mack said, “Now!”
King dropped his left foot and turned his hopping into a stumbling run. Not enough of a run to raise suspicion in the men behind him, but enough to give him some momentum.
Timing had to be perfect—two steps ahead was the twisted tree with a broken branch leaning into the path. Mack had tightened a rope from the trunk of that tree to a tree on the other side of the path, about a foot high. Low enough that it wouldn’t look obvious when King and Mack cleared it with a small jump.
King felt fingers brush across the back of his shoulder. His pursuer!
Now.
King burst into a full sprint. The tape on his ankle released, and he leaped with power. And then a jump over the rope.
He landed safely on the other side of the rope. A split second later, Mack was beside him.
One step into a full dash. Toward the small beam of light that marked the beginning of the crevice. And then...
Now!
At the sound of a startled shriek behind him, King launched off his front foot and leaped as far forward as he could, wheeling his arms to keep his balance. Olympic broad jumping it wasn’t. But it was effective.
He was in the air as he heard more shrieking behind him. And a crashing of branches.
He landed on solid ground on the other side.
Mack thumped down beside him, but the thump was lost in screams of agony.
King had had no chance to witness it, but he could only imagine. He could, however turn to see the results. If he had light.
He fumbled into his back pocket and found Blake’s iPhone. King touched a flashlight app.
The covering spruce branches were gone, and the screams in the crevice were turning into moans of agony.
Each of the predators had tripped on the rope, throwing them into the rocks about ten feet below at the bottom of the crevice.
King moved forward and saw both men, crumpled.
On an impulse, King switched the flashlight off and put the iPhone into video mode, with flash.
“Hey down there,” King said. “How did the sheep hunt work out for you?”
Mack put a hand on King’s arm and spoke quietly. “I’m as tempted as you to taunt them. But when you win, you don’t need to do that.”
King shook his head in slight amusement. Even now, he was learning from Mack.
“The warden will send out more men,” one of the hunters managed to snarl. He was shaved bald, with heavy blue tattooing across his skull and face. Like Spiderman. This was Lassiter. “You’ll be dead before the end of the night. And I’m going to spit on your body.”
As if to prove it, a walkie-talkie crackled. “Team two, come in. Report.”
So that’s why replacing the other two hadn’t worked. Walkie-talkies. When they didn’t report, the warden realized something was wrong.
“Let’s go,” Mack said. “If we move fast, we’ll get to the cliff long before another team or two can make it.”
“Killdeer,” King blurted.
“What?”
Killdeer. Yeah, that was the name of the bird that pretended to be hurt. Killdeer. Strange, how the mind worked.
“Nothing,” King said. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 38
At the edge of the cliff, they were out of the trees and exposed. The wind was much stronger, and the crashing of the waves on jagged rocks a hundred feet below had the frightening quality of constant thunder. But the open rock wasn’t wide enough to land a chopper. Anyone after them would have to approach on foot. They had time, then. King held a flashlight to guide Mack as Mack assembled lightweight rods of aluminum alloys that he’d taken from his own backpack. Mack wasn’t wasting time bolting the frames together. Instead, he was using duct tape, and the ripping sounds of the tape pulling loose from the roll was audible above the wind.
As he had explained, Mack didn’t need to bolt the frame together because at most they only needed about 20 yards of outward carry and the 100 feet of drop to the waters of Puget Sound.
Hang gliders. Two of them. From Mack’s backpack. The last and final hidden weapon they needed to escape.
Mack worked with the same unhurried efficiency he showed in his woodworking shop. Nothing about him gave an indication that more hunters were undoubtedly in pursuit and that their locations would be clearly indicated by the thermal sensors here at the edge of the forbidden zone.
All they needed was time to get into the water and another five minutes to swim. By then, even when it would be obvious where they’d gone, it would be impossible for helicopter searchlights to find them. Equally impossible for thermal sensors in a chopper to detect them. The wet suits and rubber hoodies that would protect them from the killing coldness of the water would also hold in their body heat and keep it from betraying their presence. Especially with the snorkels to help them keep their faces and swim masks in the water.
Mack was already working on the frame of the second glider. He had given calm instructions on what King needed to do for a foot launch into the wind. Neither of them were going to strap in with a harness. This was insanely dangerous, but as Mack had pointed out, even if each of them only held on to each crossbar for ten seconds and then dropped, they would have cleared the dangerous rocks and would land in open and deep water, protected from impact by their rubber suits.
“We’re good here,” Mack said, straightening from hi
s task. “Let’s get the decoys in place and put the wings on. To get this far and have the hang gliders blow away while we get the blankets ready would be a real shame.”
Decoys.
Mack was referring to a second set of camping blankets that had been stowed in King’s backpack. The first had been the Mylar-coated space blankets, meant to reflect heat. Campers also sometimes used heating blankets, powered by 12-volt batteries, with adjustable temperatures. Mack had preset the blanket dial to high, which would get as close as possible to a human body temperature.
Behind them, King and Mack had set up man-sized tripods made of branches lashed together with shoelaces. Now it was time to drape the heat blankets over the tripods and hold the blankets down against the wind by setting heavy rocks on the edges. Mack was confident that these threw off an obvious thermal glow that easily looked like the smudged outline of a human.
Back to the hang glider frames. Mack slipped the nylon wings in place.
He lifted one and handed it toward King. The wing sagged. Mack set it down and grabbed the second one.
“Take this,” Mack said. “Looks like one of the frames broke inside the backpack when I bashed the first guy.”
“But—”
“Son, not a word.”
King had only occasionally heard that tone of voice from Mack, and because Mack used it so infrequently, it had a lot of power.
King took the hang glider from Mack. The wind tugged against it.
He fought the wind, holding the hang glider with one hand and holding the flashlight with the other as Mack unfurled the nylon wing on the other hang glider and found the broken part of the frame. Mack wrapped it with more duct tape.
He grunted with satisfaction. “Yep. We’re good.”
As he began to put the nylon wing back in place on that half of the glider, both of them froze at a sound that grew above the thunder of the water against rock.
Chopper. Murdoch wasn’t sending men in by foot. And just as quickly, Mack unfroze.
“We cut that close,” Mack said. “Let’s go.”
Dead Man's Switch Page 12